silver seas
by mayfairs
Summary: your waves, they're haunting me. — annie, the 70th hunger games, finnick.


silver seas: parting of the sea, _part one_

She was sixteen then, and like how her mother used to say, '_You still have the chance to prove yourself, and make a claim to fame and fortune, my dear!_'

Annie nodded, and smiled for her mother. Still, it was a wary one. There was always a distance she felt between her mother and herself; who was sandwiched between two outstanding older brothers who were, like mother, fully supportive of the Capital and a sickly younger sister who demanded most of the attention from the family. She was yet to turn twelve, her eleventh being the past spring.

Still, her mother was fussing with the bright blue ribbon adorned around her neck. Her dress was a gentle pale turquoise, the way the sea would look sometimes.

The whole routine with the Reaping was one she shifted through annually; by now she could smile and not grimace, concentrate on the wildflowers one of her older brothers picked for her in her breast pocket, rather than the excitement she never quite understood surrounding this time of year.

The annual Hunger Games was no doubt an event of dread for most people, as it should be, Annie would think as she patted down her dress and said goodbye to her brother.

She held his hand when mother began to circle the home in a rushed panic to get herself ready for the Reaping. Her brother passed nineteen last May, arguably the best time for fishing. It was always busy then, the docks filled with people, and as a child of District 4, the smell of raw fish was a delight rather than disgust.

"May the odds be _ever_ in your favour, Annie." He smiled, and Annie grinned, eyes twinkling of unspoken stars. She liked to think her brother gave the slogan a nicer ring to it. There was always adoration for the second eldest son in Annie's eyes; kind of compassionate, he understood Annie's fears for the games more than anyone else. Annie was afraid of mentioning it to other people; Mother would be upset.

With ten minutes to spare, mother came back and shooed her brother away. The elder woman lead the way out of the door, and Annie followed without a word, suddenly nervous, for every year since she was twelve years old she'd successfully bypass having her name drawn out by the strange Capital woman with the crooked smile. It was the same woman every year, but mother insisted she was new.

When the square was in view, Annie's heart plummeted. The scene was lively as ever, excitement was in the air. She was ultimately ushered into a queue for checking in, and waved at the girl in front, Helena, who would often fish with her. When Helena turned her back and was sent to her row by a Peacemaker, Annie's eyes followed, until she, eventually followed her.

The stage was grand. Neatly decorated, and Annie turned back to see if she could spot her mother in the crowd; answer, no. Having the rows and rows of twelve, thirteen, fourteen year olds behind her made it impossible; she should've known that, surely. But she still tried.

The rest was a case of daydream.

Annie didn't like thinking about partaking in The Hunger Games, nor the excitement and drive her peers had for taking part. People like Yara, Lilia, and Markus – the Reaping were all they talked about for days and days before the big day.

Watching the Games was an unavoidable activity, not only by law; mother demanded it, and her eldest brother loved the show. He'd boo and hiss if one of our own were cut short, and laugh at a 'good move', often involving a lot of blood. He'd always talk about how 'inventive' the tributes were in the Games, and how 'cowardly' the ones running from the cornucopia bloodbath were.

Either way, that thought could no longer distract Annie from the tense air she had tried so hard to forget.

"_And the female tribute of the 70__th__ annual Hunger Games is…"_

There was a shared gasp of air.

"_Annie Cresta!"_

Everything else blurred out from view.

A mash of scenes, pictures, a snippet of an embrace.

Annie's mouth went dry.

* * *

_26.11.13_

_part one, 700 words_

Should end in about three parts or so. Watching Catching Fire rekindled my love for this series, but forgive me for any inaccuracies. I'd appreciate any feedback, thanks. I'd say it's a bit hard to swallow, this all game out like word vomit.


End file.
